War
by kevin the bird
Summary: She needed him to know that none of this was his fault, that Fred fought for what was right, that backing Harry was something he knew and felt to be right. Harry breathed in another deep breath of air, zoning in on the smell of Molly's shampoo - the one that reminded him so much of Ginny. He needed to hear that. He needed to hear it from Molly.


War. Such a peculiar thing for a child to hold the weight of on his shoulders. Yet, Harry Potter did so - for years. With such grace Molly Weasley never thought possible for an eighteen-year-old. But nothing reminded her of how young he was then hearing him thrash in his sleep, whimpering, crying, yelling out for help. At first, it woke Ron up and he tried his best to comfort him. He did a good job, for someone who wasn't always in tune with his own emotions. But it happened so often that Ron slept through it now, much to Harry's relief. But that didn't mean someone else in the house didn't hear it. Molly was a light sleeper, all those years of taking care of small children will do that. Most nights she would slip into her night robe and make her way to the room Harry was sharing with Ron. Some nights he was fast asleep again, other nights she asked if he was okay and he answered a quick yes and to not worry about him. But there were nights that were bad, nights where he howled in pain (still, Ron slept through it). Nights like those, Molly slipped into Ron's room and onto the cot Harry occupied. She pulled him in tight against her body - him in a fetal position; her sitting against the headboard with her arm around his shoulders as she shushed him the way only a mother could. The tears streaming down his face quickened at the appearance of the maternal figure. Being the only maternal person in his life, seeing her, feeling the protectiveness of her arm around his shoulders, cuddling into her body put him at an ease that allowed him to feel the pain, but also allowed him to feel safe in feeling that pain. With her other hand, Molly flattened Harry's jet black hair against his head and planted a soft kiss on his head.

"I'm here, sweetie," she said, much like she would have had it been one of her biological kids who had a nightmare. Harry moved his head, so it was resting in the crook of Molly's neck, her chin resting on top of it. His tears started to slow down, the comfort of Molly holding him making him relax after his nightmare. "It was a bad one, wasn't it?" she asked as he made himself more comfortable in her embrace.

"It was so real," he said, his voice cracking. "It was like I was there again." He tried to hold back the tears, only barely doing so. He always felt so drained after a nightmare. The fear, the racing heartbeat, the sudden waking at odd hours of the morning. Most nights they weren't bad enough to keep him up much longer than a few minutes, other nights, not so much. He figured this would have been one of those nights had Molly not been there to comfort him. Feeling the maternal comfort radiating from her, smelling the shampoo that reminded him of Ginny - it was what he needed.

"I'm so proud of you, love," she whispered as she pressed another kiss to his head. Harry instinctively pulled the covers closer to his body, encompassing Molly in as well. It was as if he were trying to hide his insecurities. His insecurities of feeling like everything was his fault, that the war happened because of him, that people died because of him. That Molly's son had died because of him.

Without thought and before he could stop himself he blurted out, "You don't blame me?"

"Sweet boy," Molly breathed as she pulled him in as close as possible. "I don't, my love. I could never blame you." Molly knew Harry probably harbored feelings she would never understand, but that one wasn't one she would have ever imagined such a young man could feel. Yet it didn't surprise her. Wouldn't she have felt the same way? "Fred fought along with you. To fight for you. To fight for his family, his friends. For everyone worth fighting for. Much to my dislike, that boy was a Weasley and a Prewett through and through. When he believed in something, he would do anything to fight for it. And that was you, sweetie. He believed in you." It didn't feel right talking about Fred in the past tense. But it was something she needed to do more than she had thought. It felt good to verbalize what she had been thinking, not only because she knew Harry needed to hear it, but because she, herself, needed to hear it. "I am so proud of you," Molly repeated. She needed Harry to believe her. She needed him to know that none of this was his fault, that Fred fought for what was right, that backing Harry was something he knew and felt to be right. Harry breathed in another deep breath of air, zoning in on the smell of Molly's shampoo - the one that reminded him so much of Ginny. He needed to hear that. He needed to hear it from Molly. He unconcously nesled his head even more under Molly's chin, his eyes drooping as he felt himself move closer to unconciousness, peacefully falling asleep in the maternal figure's embrace.


End file.
